


Antiphonal Harmony

by whenyouheldtheknife



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Coming Out, F/F, Female Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Humanstuck, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Red Romance, Romance, cronus is a professor lol, will add more if necessary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenyouheldtheknife/pseuds/whenyouheldtheknife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But you liked playing it this way, taking your time with the notes even as they began to increase; you were on the accented eighths now and were loving every second of their sound.</p><p> </p><p>You were just reaching the end of the piece when you heard the door creak.</p><p> </p><p>You lifted your hands off the piano and turned around so quickly that you could have given yourself whiplash. In the doorway, you saw some guy with bright red hair standing there, looking sheepish and a little grumpy, like he was pissed that he’d been caught. Had he been – was he <i>watching</i> you?</p><p> </p><p>You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Who are you?”</p><p> </p><p>A/N: yep this sums them up p well</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antiphonal Harmony

**Author's Note:**

> 1) so hi i had this dumb johnkat idea nagging at me for ages and i guess i just gave in to the urges to write it, hehe  
> 2) basically john is a music major and karkat (lol kyle) is an education major and kyle ends up walking in on john when he's playing and they hit it off uvu  
> 3) it's got a lot of music theory references, but you're welcome to ask me anything about them ^^ (or google if you don't wanna talk to me i guess)  
> 4) anyway i hope you enjoy this!!

“Dude, are you gonna fuckin’ get up or what? You can’t sleep all day.” 

You heard the voice of your roommate as if from a great distance, but you recognized it nonetheless. With a deep breath, you sat straight up in bed, blinking to bring the fuzzy world around you to life. “Time is it?” you hear yourself asking. You grope around on your bed for your glasses; you remember falling asleep with them on last night. Your fingers close over the metal frame and you pick up the glasses, setting them on your nose. The world – and Dave, your irritated-looking roommate – comes into focus instantly. 

“Five ‘til ten,” he answered, a little curtly. “C’mon, I ain’t gonna wait all day for Sleeping Beauty.” 

Dave pulled your covers off of your bed and you scrambled up, bending slightly over your body to hide it. You were only wearing your boxers; Jesus! “Don’t do that, Dave, what if I slept naked or something?” you snapped. You bent down and threw on a random shirt; you vaguely registered that it soft and blue as you pulled on shorts – probably khaki, because at the rate you were trying to pull them up, denim would’ve hurt. 

Dave shrugged. “More fun for me, I guess,” he answered, tossing your pre-packed satchel at you. 

The satchel caught you in the chest when you were trying to zip up your shorts and you stumbled back a bit, your breath leaving you. “Looks like you’re having too much fun already,” you grumbled. You finished zipping up and you picked up your satchel, slinging it over your shoulder. 

“Sweet, now leave or you’ll be late.” Dave opened the door and you were halfway out when you paused and looked back, suddenly suspicious of your best friend. 

“Dave… do you have a _girl_ coming over?” you asked, a grin curving your lips. 

“What makes you think that? No, never mind, don’t wanna know, just get out and go learn shit. make me proud, bring home the bacon, et cetera.” With that, Dave shoved you out the door and closed it quickly behind you. 

Your grin turned into a smirk and you shrugged, leaving Dave alone for now. You had others means of getting your answers. 

\- - -

**-ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 10:15-**

EB: rose! 

TT: John. 

EB: is dave hooking up with a girl today? 

TT: Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now? 

EB: i am! 

That was true. You had only arrived to class a few minutes late, which had earned you a pointed glare from Professor Ampora, but the point was that you had made it. You had your laptop out because it was a silent work period; everyone was supposed to be working on their first compositions. 

But, uh. You just weren’t feeling it. Not really. So you’d opened pesterchum instead of your composition software and were now officially procrastinating. 

EB: i’m just not… working, that’s all. 

TT: It would be smart of you to at least attempt to work, instead of trying to get gossip out of me about our dear friend Dave. 

EB: but you totally know what he’s doing, don’t you? 

TT: What ever would give you that impression? 

EB: well, you’re really smart for one. you always have this sixth sense about what we’re doing or going to be doing. 

EB: and for another thing, you’re nosy. not in a bad way, but in a way where you know how to get people to admit to stuff. 

EB: it’s really clever actually! 

TT: Oh, flattery gets you everywhere, John. 

TT: Dave isn’t seeing a girl today. 

EB: really? but i was so sure! 

TT: I know. This must come as a huge disappointment to you. You wasted some rather pleasing flattery on a matter you were entirely wrong about. 

EB: sigh. 

TT: I sigh for you as well, John. I sigh a sigh so deep that it echoes for centuries within the ever-shifting tectonic plates on this hollow land, a sigh that bubbles from the deepest craters of the ocean, a sigh that is exhaled every time the earth makes another full rotation around the sun. 

TT: This sigh goes on for as long as you will be wrong about Dvae and girls. My current estimate is that my sigh will be exhaled indefinitely. 

EB: ha ha, rose, very funny. :P 

EB: i guess i’ll try to work, then. talk to you later! 

TT: See you, John. 

**-EB ceased pestering TT at 10:33-**

You closed out of pesterchum and booted up your composition software. You looked up while waiting for it to load entirely and came eye-to-eye with your professor. 

“How’s your work coming along, champ?” he asked you, his words smooth and steady. You knew better than that, though; Professor Ampora was only sleek like this when he was close to biting someone’s head off. And this time, that someone was going to be you. 

You swallowed nervously, your mouth dry. “Uh… it’s going okay. I’m just trying to come up with a good motive. It’s hard work, Professor.” You tried your best innocent smile out on the man. 

He wasn’t convinced. “Get to work, John. This kinda major demands hard work and sacrifice if you want to be anything close to successful. Keep that in mind – it’ll be a good motive for you to actually start this project in the first place.” Immediately, your professor smiled brightly at you, showing off all of his shiny, sharp teeth. “Got it, champ?” 

“Ye – yeah, Professor, I got it…” you answered weakly, trailing off as he walked off to another student’s desk. God, that was embarrassing… 

You sighed and looked at the empty staves on your screen. You might as well get started. 

\- - -

“Hi Dave, I might not be back at the room until late. I’m going to go practice and let out some frustration, I guess. Have fun with your girl!” you exclaimed, smiling as you left the message on Dave’s phone. It had been turned off, which was unusual, but you figured that if you had a girl in the room that you would turn your phone off too. 

(You still weren’t sure that Dave actually had a girl in the room or not, but for now you had decided to disregard what Rose said. As much as you liked her, she had a habit of never saying exactly what she meant.) 

You hung up your phone and walked into the practice wing of the music department. From farther down the hall, you could hear the mixed sounds of violins, clarinets, some brass, and a few singers. You smiled briefly, excited at the sounds. You loved the sounds of any musical ensemble or soloist warming up, particularly the sound of an orchestra tuning right before a concert. There was something that you thought was a little bit beautiful about it. 

Turning right, towards the sound, you walked down the hall. You knew which room was your practice room because it was the only one with a piano in it. You often joked with your friends that the piano was your weapon of choice, but sometimes you really believed that it could be. You could tune a piano to its most accurate pitch possible, then play to move an audience to any emotion you pleased. 

Finally, you made it to your room; it was the last one on the left and the lights were off, meaning that no one else was in there screwing around with your baby. You opened the door, flicked the lights on, and stepped inside. 

And there she was, just as you’d last left her: your beautiful piano. You grinned and sat at the bench, which was already adjusted to your height, forgetting that you’d left the door halfway open in your excitement to sit down. 

You flexed your fingers, getting the joints ready for what you were going to play: a favorite tune, one of your first pieces. Closing your eyes once you’d found the key (C minor) and practiced the scales as a warm-up, you began to play. 

High, sad-sounding notes resounded around the small room, echoing off of the walls and deflecting from the door into the hallway. For some reason, your thirteen-year-old self had called this tune “Showtime”. Had you bothered to speed up the tempo and modulate to a major key, it could have sounded much more akin to what the title implied. But you liked playing it this way, taking your time with the notes even as they began to increase; you were on the accented eighths now and were loving every second of their sound. 

You were just reaching the end of the piece when you heard the door creak. 

You lifted your hands off the piano and turned around so quickly that you could have given yourself whiplash. In the doorway, you saw some guy with bright red hair standing there, looking sheepish and a little grumpy, like he was pissed that he’d been caught. Had he been – was he _watching_ you? 

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Who are you?” 


End file.
